Score
by Puckulence
Summary: In the middle of a Quidditch game, rain pouring down impossibly hard, Hermione shows up just in time to save the day, and Oliver can only think of one way to thank her.


A/N: This is so random, but you don't understand. I just _had_ to.

The rain was coming down harder than ever, fierce and unforgiving; great, cold sheets of it fell from the steel grey sky and hindered every player flying around the Quidditch Pitch. Their clothes soaking wet and heavy, the quaffle wet and slipping from the chasers' fingers, and the roaring aggravation of the crowd was beginning to drive each player crazy. Both teams were stressed, patience wearing thin: the Hufflepuffs were nervous, knowing the Gryffindors were favored for this game, and were trying to push on through the heavy rain and discouragement; Gryffindor was paranoid and worn-out, afraid of losing but unsure if they could win in these conditions because of their seeker. Harry Potter, the one they were all relying on, wore glasses. They knew that he couldn't see a thing in the rain, and the stress of it all was beginning to wear them down.

The player that was, without question, the most upset was the Gryffindor keeper, Oliver Wood. He kept anxiously circling round the hoops, guarding them to the best of his ability in the hellish weather while shouting words of "encouragement" to Harry, who didn't seem encouraged by them at all. Angry and on edge, Oliver hurriedly called a time-out to give the young seeker some more advice in a last-ditch attempt to help them win. The Gryffindors descended quickly and trekked across the muddy ground to circle up, and Oliver turned to Harry, face grim. He had words for him and planned to voice them rather loudly.

Harry yanked off his glasses and attempted to wipe them off. "What's the score?"

"We're fifty points up, but unless we get the Snitch soon, we'll be playing into the night," Wood answered, tone stern. He folded his arms across his chest as if he expected an explanation, but Harry only gaped at him in hopelessness.

"I've got no chance with these on," Harry said, frustrated. He waved his hand about, glasses clutched tightly in his fingers.

Wood could feel his irritation getting the best of his, but before he could utter any words to criticize his teammate, a girl looking not unlike an angel seemed to glide down from the stands.

In reality, she was doing anything but gliding. She was hustling down the stairs, nearly tripping over feet and slipping as soon as she reached the wet grass. However, the girl's excitement was to be admired, and that was the only thing he noticed as she ran-well, not the _only thing. Oliver gazed at her as she bounded over: she was flushing deeply from the cold of the rain, and a mass of thick, tawny hair stuck to her cheeks and laid soaking across her dainty shoulders from underneath the cloak she held clumsily over her head. As she drew closer, he could see she looked ecstatic, and if Oliver hadn't been so tense, he might've laughed as she stumbled across the pitch to his team. Her feet kept getting caught in the mud, she hiked up her white stockings as she made her way towards them, and as her Gryffindor scar slipped down her neck, he could see she was smiling a brilliant smile; she was gorgeous. Finally she reached them, clothes muddied up and hair plastered to her drenched skin, but the smile still remained. _

_Oliver felt the need to question her presence, but she spoke up first. "I've had an idea Harry! Give me your glasses, quick!" she yelled over the sound of the rain and thunder; her voice had a bossy tone that Oliver couldn't help but like. He watched as she quickly pulled her scarf around her mouth again, dropped the soaking cloak to the ground, and groped for Harry's glasses. She held them out and with a swift tap of her wand, said "Impervius!" in a muffled voice. She was positively beaming as she forked them over to Harry, who put them on in a hurry and grinned immediately. "There!" the girl said as she pocketed her wand and pulled the cloak over her head again. Determination oozed out of her every pore. With her free hand she jerked the scarf from her mouth. "They'll repel water!" _

_Oliver marched over to the heroine of the game and looked down at her, staring at her in amazement and gratitude; he looked as though he could've kissed her, and, as a matter of fact, that precisely what he did. _

_The entire team watched in shock and amazement as Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, roughly pulled plain-Jane Hermione Granger into a very wet, impulsive kiss. One hand gripped her shoulder tightly while the other one slipped beneath her cloak to get tangled in her thicket of hair, and he forcefully pressed his mouth against her lips. He could hear her squeak with surprise as he kissed her deeply, not taking the time to gently snake himself inside her mouth. At first, her mouth protested and tried to close tightly, but his rogue tongue was determined to thank her properly and pushed back through her barricade. Her tongue recoiled at the touch of his, but to his own amazement, he felt it slowly unfold as her mouth widened. He could feel her now attempting to softly return the actions, her lack of experience incredibly obvious but somehow endearing as she moved sloppily inside his mouth. A part of him stirred and yearned to teach her more, to coach her on how to kiss him properly, and he would have if he had not been interrupted._

_A hand grabbed at his robes and violently pulled him away. His mouth unglued from hers rather reluctantly, and Oliver could tell from Hermione's dazed expression that she had really gotten into it. Her eyes fluttered open and as she glanced at him, he licked the remnants of her saliva from his lips and gave her a carnal grin. She blushed more furiously now and looked at her feet, and immediately began sputtering out fragments of explanations as Harry turned to her, face incredulous. She wrapped her cloak tightly around herself and scampered away into the crowd, scar slipping off of her neck to land into the mushy grass. Oliver could hear the sound of his teammates scolding him and the roars of the crowd at the scandal he had caused, but he yanked himself away and called out, "Brilliant!" _

_He spun around to face a lot of agitated faces, especially the girls on the team, who all looked ready to strangle him. He simply said, "let's go for it!" before seizing his broom and waving them all to follow his lead. They all mounted their brooms as well, still angry but wanting to win the match, and it was that determination that got them to kick off from the soft ground. As the wind whipped the rain in front of his face and attempted to tear him from his broom, Oliver could think only of his victory, and with a smile swore that he would have another one by the end of the match. _


End file.
